


Weight Worth Bearing

by myrna123



Series: Weight Bearing Universe [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon Cardassia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-02 17:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6575704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrna123/pseuds/myrna123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Elim Garak and Julian Bashir are married, devoted to the rebuilding of Cardassia and about to embark on a hurt/comfort adventure.</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. The Diagnosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elim Garak and Julian Bashir are married, devoted to the rebuilding of Cardassia and about to embark on a hurt/comfort adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Presenting Garak and Bashir as I wish they had been written. Any resemblance to the characters as they appeared on the show is probably totally coincidental.

Elim Garak always enjoyed the 10 minute walk between office and home. Almost every day there was some welcome sign—granted, sometimes a very, very small sign, but a sign nonetheless—that Cardassia was healing; that one day she would thrive and prosper as she and her people deserved.

Julian often teased that it wasn't so much the signs of Cardassian revival Garak enjoyed on these walks, but rather the deferential bows and solicitous greetings from his fellow citizens. And why bother refuting? Hadn't undeserved years as a social pariah earned him a certain degree of pleasure at acceptance from his fellow man?

Garak could admit—to himself, at least—that he felt a slight nudge of discomfort whenever the topic of exile arose—even when it was obvious Julian was just good-naturedly poking at his husband's ego. Still, reminders of Garak's life on DS9 made him worry that Julian was now subject to similar treatment.

But Julian always assured him it was never revulsion he dealt with--disdain, perhaps; resentment certainly, but never the loathing that Garak faced on DS9.

Besides, a nanosecond in Julian's angelic presence, Garak was known to complain, and a xenophobic Cardassian was suddenly wagging a finger under _Garak's_ nose and insisting he be good to the fair doctor braving his way through a strange land.

Garak and Julian had lived in their current home less than two weeks before their very ancient neighbor kicked at their front door late one evening. No sooner had Garak opened the door than she shoved a stack of dishes at him—meat pie, pastry, some kind of grain dish. "You no eat all the food!" she barked. "That boy get some too!" She spoke an old, rural dialect, and Garak figured he only understood about half of whatever she might be bellowing at him at any given time.

"Madam Almaya," Garak said solicitously, bowing as low as he could with a week's worth of dinners in his hands. "I can assure you, Julian…"

"Starve the boy no way to make him behave!" Madam Almaya continued. "You very old, but you change now with Cardassia and have gentle hand. You still be strong, but in new ways."

"Yes, sound advice that is," Garak agreed. "But I feel that I must correct your…"

Madam Almaya turned to go. "You no starve boy!" she bellowed over her shoulder.

Jogging downstairs after his post-work shower, Julian heard just the tail end of the conversation. "She wants you to starve me?" he said in alarm, staring in confusion at all the food Garak was holding.

"Hardly," Garak said, heading to the kitchen with their bounty. "She wants me to fatten you up."

Julian moved to the window, still suspiciously eyeing the old lady as she hobbled back to her house. "It's not because she wants to eat me, is it?"

 

As usual, Garak enjoyed his nightly trek home from the office, although rather than enjoying the signs of a rejuvenated Cardassia, he'd spent the time rethinking the plans for the town center that had been presented to the grand committee that afternoon. Not rethinking exactly, more like tweaking. He was looking forward to sharing the details with Julian and hearing his opinion of the plans.

Garak stepped in the front door and perhaps, later, in the story's retelling, Garak rewrote it—embellishing for dramatic effect, as was his wont. Or perhaps he remembered exactly as it happened, just as one might when one is experiencing the exact moment that Before becomes After.

Even though he couldn't see Julian, even though the very small, but no less cozy living area was as pristine as it had been when they left for work that morning, Garak knew something was different; knew something had happened. Maybe there was no music and there was usually music; maybe there were no scents of dinner in the air and there were usually scents of dinner. It was some absence of or addition to, but it was something, and it was different, and Garak knew it.

"Julian?" he called warily. "I'm home."

"Kitchen," came Julian's clipped reply, and Garak ignored the strange impulse compelling him to turn around and leave; as if whatever was happening could be remedied by simply refusing to know what it was.

Garak reluctantly made his way to the kitchen where Julian had two teacups sitting on the counter, waiting for the tea steeping in a pot next to them. Julian looked up and Garak sucked in a steadying breath. Julian's eyes spoke of trouble and upset, and all Garak could think was "Bad-bad-bad-bad-bad."

"What's wrong?" he asked, his tone harsh, and it only made him more cross to see Julian's eyes soften with compassion that Garak's hackles should already be raised.

Of course, by then, the two of them had experienced several Befores and Afters, and in that moment, Garak was struck that the Julian from Before--before the revelation of his genetic enhancements; before years as the too-young CMO of a Starfleet outpost; before a year in the fields of a war-torn Cardassia--that Julian would have babbled anxiously and endlessly prior to delivering unwelcomed news. The Julian of After answered Garak simply, his voice calm and his gaze unwavering. "Dr. Pella found an anomaly in the blood test he took for my yearly physical," he said. "This morning we ran further tests and confirmed that I have Kryholtz-Kiner Disease. It is a blood disorder, most common in geriatric patients and those living on planets where solar flares have become problematic."

Garak supposed shock was the appropriate response to such a preposterous statement; maybe fear or sadness, compassion or sorrow. There were probably medical libraries full of text books describing expected reactions to such news. What Garak felt was fury burning white hot in his chest. "Curable?" he barked.

Julian's pause was almost—almost—undetectable. "Yes," he said. "Treatable, certainly. Cure rates are, of course, impacted by patient age, general health, access to appropriate monitoring and medication, and there are some…"

Garak was not interested in equivocations. He interrupted, "And your genetic alterations. Is this because of or in spite of?"

And how such a question would have pained the Julian from Before. There was a time when the very mention of Julian's enhancements would have evoked a wince at the very least; oftentimes a start as though the words had been a physical slap; his shame always heavy and nearly overwhelming. This Julian just shrugged, looking thoughtful. "There won't be a lot of credible research on the subject given its taboo status," he said. "The reading I've done today suggests in spite of. Pella thinks it will ultimately be a benefit to my treatment."

"And just how reliable are the diagnostics at Central anyway?" Garak asked irritably. "Not a week goes by that you're not lamenting the outdated, downright defective equipment you have to coax into some semblance of usefulness…"

Julian slowly shook his head. His hand twitched, and Garak guessed he wanted to reach out to soothe him, but Julian knew well a bristling Garak would not be soothed. "There is no mistake," he said. "Pella reviewed the results and had them independently—and blindly—confirmed by a colleague in Dallaug."

"Blindly!" Garak scoffed. "Please look at this blood sample from a 30 something year old Terran patient at Central Hospital in Lakat."

Julian would not be engaged. " _I_ reviewed the results," he said quietly, and Garak's anger melted into anguish.

"Julian!" he whispered; horrified.

Julian met Garak's eyes and finally allowed his own anguish to show. "All my Cardassian babies will have to wait," he whispered in a voice wet with unshed tears.

Once Julian and Garak had been married a year—to the day, Julian always insisted—their notoriously private and etiquette-minded Cardassian friends began baldly asking after their plans to have children. Well, "asking" was not the right word at all. None of them had the slightest question in their minds as to whether or not Julian and Garak would have children. They did; however, have plenty of unsolicited demands and advice.

"You marry an old man, you don't sit and wait for babies!" Madam Almaya fussed at Julian one morning. She was usually sweeping her front stoop in the mornings when Julian and Garak set out for work and always had some bit of wisdom to pass on to the two of them.

"She knows you're standing right next to me, doesn't she?" a red-faced Julian whispered to Garak as they hurried past.

"Oh, she knows," Garak answered acerbically.

Julian's staff at the hospital provided a steady stream of information about where to obtain baby furniture, baby clothes, preschool academy applications, and on and on. Cocktail parties for visiting VIPs, investors, Federation aid chiefs always seemed to bring out the obsessively baby-minded amongst Garak's staff, cornering Julian to debate everything from the importance of classical music to the developing infant brain to the advisability of organized infant exercise classes (militaristic overtones or engendering community solidarity?).

Julian finally asked a shocked Garak if he was putting his staff up to badgering Julian because he thought Julian would embarrass him at the formal functions.

Julian told Garak the story one evening of dropping off medical supplies prior to an aid run and being pleased to see Paulin, one of the relief pilots he and Garak had befriended soon after returning to Cardassia. Rather than the boisterous, "Hello Earthling!" Julian expected, Paulin's greeting was, "You'll want the diaper phase over as quickly as possible, so get two or three babies at once."

"I'm sorry, say again?" Julian had said feeling bewildered as he handed over a box of bandages and antibacterial creams.

Paulin had shrugged, as if Julian had disagreed with his words. "I’m just saying, you don't want to spend the next 12 years changing diapers when you can concentrate it in an easy, two, three-year chunk."

"Go two and two," said Najim, the coordinating relief manager on this particular aid effort. "You don't want the babies to outnumber you, especially in the beginning when you're getting the hang of everything."

"Agreed," said some woman Julian didn't even recognize. "After the first two, you can get as many as you want for the next rounds. Keep it to odd numbers in the end though, so you can always break a tie when you're voting."

"Voting?" he repeated to Garak that night. "What, exactly, are we and our army of children voting on? I'm not raising children by committee, I can tell you that." Julian pointed his fork at Garak and continued, "Are you subject to this never-ending child-rearing campaign or is it just me?"

"My sense is it that I am more privy to the muttered aside than the…"

"Bashing over the head with a mallet?"

Garak laughed. "There does seem to be a little more subtlety employed on my behalf."

"Well, except Madam Almaya," Julian said, chuckling too. "She's sounding the alarm loud and clear about your advancing age and the need to get those babies here now!"

"Such a delightfully caring citizen," Garak cooed.

Julian laughed, but then he grew serious. "Elim," he said. "The few times we've spoken of children, I'd say we're both ambivalent at best. Is this something we need to discuss in more depth?"

Garak delicately passed his napkin across his lips and sat back in his chair. "I'm happy to discuss if you'd like, my love. I think ambivalence is an accurate description of my feelings at the moment. I will say I'm of a mind we can be devoted to the relief effort or we can be devoted to our horde of Cardassian babies. I do not believe we can be devoted to both."

Julian ducked his head in a charming display of shyness.  "I suppose there may come a time when balancing both seems a reasonable venture," he said.

"There may indeed," Garak said.

Julian smiled, clearly more at ease with the certainty that he and Garak really were on the same page. "So our battalion of Cardassian babies will have to wait?" he asked.

Garak smiled back, sliding his hand on top of Julian's and patting it affectionately. "For now," he had said.

It had become a private joke between them; waiting on "all their Cardassian babies" became shorthand for anything that required patience.

 

Now, standing in their darkening kitchen, Garak managed a very limp chuckle at Julian's invocation of the babies. He looked around their sparse little house, his eyes casting over to the window that looked out on their equally bare back yard. It wasn't that many months ago that their sweet little existence held much more hardship; fresh water was a daily consideration; food was more strictly rationed, brown outs and black outs were not a daily hindrance, but weekly at least. Progress had been steady, but still felt… precarious.

Garak sighed, slowly shaking his head, arms spread at his husband in supplication. Julian would not like the sentiment, but Garak could not refrain from stating it. "This is… this is not a place for such an illness, Julian," he said.

Julian nodded, but it was a nod of confirmation—he knew the conversation was coming. It was not a nod of agreement. "There are two immutable things I will tell you right now, Elim," Julian said. "The first, I am now and forever will be a Cardassian citizen. Cardassia is where I live and it is where I will be treated for this illness. I will not leave for some Federation medical center you think can offer me something I cannot get here. Do not ask me go elsewhere. Do not take me elsewhere should there come a time when I cannot make that decision for myself."

Garak's unfounded anger returned, and he glared at his implacable husband. "And the second?" he asked icily.

"I will get the treatment I need. The medication is available, Dr. Pella and his staff—my _colleagues_ \--are fine physicians, and the care I will receive will be top-notch. There is no need to employ means best left in the past due to some misplaced fear that I might be denied what I need. It will not be borne, Elim." Julian leaned in close, and said it again. "It will not be borne." He stood straight and at least had the grace to stare into his tea cup as he made his most unreasonable demand. "I will have you swear upon the life I will be fighting to sustain that you will not fall back on old tactics should we face…challenges with my treatment."

Garak breathed heavily through his nose, shocked at the depth of his rage and knowing he would regret unleashing it at that moment. "And if our positions were reversed?" he asked, his tone resentful and low. "Would you make such promises to me?"

"My dear husband," Julian reply was silky smooth and oh-so-condescending. "We both know you'd never ask me to."

Later, this is where Garak would end the telling of the story: a clever, pithy closing line to neatly wrap the scene. Of course, life doesn't have a To Be Continued button and in their little kitchen, life certainly continued on.

Garak huffed a breath—part amusement; part momentary capitulation. "So what is the line at the bottom as you're so fond of saying?"

Julian offered his own huff of amusement at Garak's phrasing, no doubt knowing he'd messed it up on purpose. "Don't think I don't realize you haven't yet promised," he said. "And the line at the bottom is that we can expect unpleasantness for the next six to eight months, after which we shall resume course, full steam ahead."

Garak nodded and the anger receded as quickly as it bubbled up, leaving him feeling as though he'd just singlehandedly cleared the rubble of a bombed out warehouse.   "What happens next?" he asked, shrugging helplessly at his husband.

Julian answered gently, a man who had learned sometimes there was nothing to do but endure. "Next you take me to bed and hold me."

Garak held his hand out to Julian, and said with that same gentleness, "Come to bed, then, my love, and I shall hold you."


	2. Three Months Layer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shameless hurt/comfort begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Presenting Garak and Bashir as I wish they had been written. Any resemblance to the characters as they appeared on the show is probably totally coincidental.

**_Three Months Later_ **

 It turned out that, for the first couple of months after his diagnosis, Julian wasn't as euphemistically off base as Garak assumed with his description of the treatment as merely "unpleasant."

Mornings began with a self-administered hypo, and so far, at least, there were few side effects. Julian likened it most days to feeling as though he was just coming down with or just getting over a run-of-the-mill virus. Most days, though, Julian and Garak simply lived their lives as usual—going to work, squabbling over whose turn it was to cook dinner or stop by the market, attending musical performances and art exhibits, sporting events and building openings, in turn marveling at Cardassia's rebirth and despairing over her growing pains. And always, always, there were books—books to trade back and forth, to discuss and dispute and review. From the beginning of their acquaintance, literature had been a force between them—it was refuge and comfort, challenge and foreplay. It had always been a means of revelation—offering glimpses of their inner selves in a way casual discussion never would.

Now and then there were days it was clear Julian didn't feel well, but then he'd simply retire early; perhaps on a rare occasion, he might coax Garak into leaving work so he could lounge on the couch and read to Julian from one of their favorite books.

It astonished Garak that he could work ten, sometimes twelve hour days—the knowledge of Julian's illness like hunger or heat—a presence, certainly, something felt, of course, but there only in the background—hardly an obstacle to just getting on with it—whatever "it" might be. There were always requests for aid to pour over; paperwork to file and re-file with every Federation and Federation-related bureaucracy known to man and beast alike; there were construction sites to visit, dignitaries to entertain, there was anticipating what project should come next and then next after that and next after that and always debating with his colleagues what was working and what wasn't.

How strange it was as Garak set out on his walk home to realize he had worked a full, productive day and his husband—his _husband_ —was ill. How strange it would suddenly seem, that all of Cardassia; their neighbors; their friends; these strangers walking by—how strange that their lives should continue unimpeded and uninterrupted, while his life and Julian's should be so upset.

"Don't you know?" he wanted to ask.

Some days the compulsion was so strong to just stop someone as they passed him in the street, focused only on wherever they might be headed. "Don't you understand my husband; my Julian—might be lost to me?" Garak wanted to say. As though everyone he passed didn't have a tragic tale or two or ten hundred to share; their own lives no doubt shattered by war because there was no one whose life wasn't.

Still.

Yet.

Their tragedies were not Julian--his beautiful boy; his reward for a life of service and sacrifice; his treasure. What did any of them know about what it would mean to lose such a gift?

And then Garak would find himself at his front door and he would enter, and there would be Julian. Regular, ordinary Julian—working on charts at the kitchen counter, giving Garak that ridiculous welcome home smile that always made him feel like he'd done something heroic all day rather than pushing piles of paper around a desk

Garak would kiss Julian in greeting and ask about his day and Julian would share a story or two—the frustrations of trying to run a hospital; a research project; a preventative healthcare program in a war-torn world or maybe just the silliness of sentient beings and the trouble they made for themselves as they muddled through their lives.

"Don't you remember?" Garak sometimes wanted to ask his husband, as Julian blithely related the latest romantic debacle of his colleague Denkar or the atrocious Earth-inspired cuisine he'd suffered through at his friend Lacon's cafe.

"Don't you understand you might be lost to me?" Garak would think, pretending to listen to the details of whatever had happened that day, marveling that Julian seemed to think there was room for something—anything—other than his illness in Garak's overwhelmed mind.

And then Julian would ask after his day—expecting a story or two of similar small scale trials and tribulations, and Garak would produce them, all the while thinking, "Don't you remember?"

At the end of five weeks of daily injections, Julian had no choice but to remember, because then came a week of detox. No medication was administered, and Julian's body protested as his bloodstream purged itself of the drugs.

The first 24 hours, Julian just mooched around at home, his major complaint one of restlessness rather than any kind of physical discomfort. It was more irritating than uncomfortable—he couldn't sit still long enough to concentrate on anything so he essentially spent a very long day flitting from chair to couch to kitchen to stoop to patio and back to chair again.

The morning of the second day, an attendant from Central would arrive and spend the day at the house. By this time, Julian's restlessness was replaced with bone-weary fatigue. He dozed off and on, muzzy-headed and disconnected.

There were several hours, usually in the middle of the day when he was just… gone. Not asleep, not unconscious exactly, but not responsive either. The specialist he was seeing, Dr. Noor, likened it to a seizure without convulsions. She had very thoroughly explained the likely reaction to Garak prior to the first detox, which was a good thing because the moment Julian's eyes rolled back in his head and stayed there, Garak would have been beside himself with worry. It was still disconcerting, but when Julian came around and back to himself, he seemed no worse for the wear. Garak sometimes felt like _he_ needed to be sedated, but Julian was fine.

Julian tried to convince Garak to go about his day as usual, and Garak did try. Julian asked for very little through all of this, and if he felt better with Garak at least pretending to be productive at work, then so be it. But Garak insisted he sit with Julian through the strange waking sleep. He couldn't even articulate why he so strongly felt the need to be there, but he did.

Julian teased that Garak subconsciously thought it an opportunity to indoctrinate Julian to some nefarious end.

"Darling, you know how I hate it when you only pretend to be jaded and suspicious," Garak had sniffed at him.

Julian had laughed. "Apologies that my sunny optimism vexes you so."

"One endures what one must," Garak had sighed.

He arrived home around mid-day and traded pleasantries with the attendant, then took his PADD and several novels upstairs to the bedroom. Julian's eyes were open but vacant as Garak slid into the chair waiting for him by the bedside. Julian's finger twitched, and he made a quiet sound of distress.

"It's all right, love," Garak said. "I'm here."

 Julian's eyes started to drift shut, but he shook his head, struggling to stay awake.

 "Oh, don't fight it," Garak soothed. "It's okay now."

 Julian settled back and Garak sifted through the work he'd brought upstairs with him, hoping he had the minutes from the last zoning committee meeting.

 He heard a soft huff of breath and looked over just as Julian's eyes slowly rolled back in his head.

 "Ahh, there you go," Garak said softly. "Be easy, Sweetheart, I'm here."

Garak studied his husband for a moment, head cocked to the side, lips pursed. "So what shall I whisper into your comatose ear today?" he wondered aloud. "You say you don't remember anything I say at this point, but how very curious it was last time that not even a week after I spoke to you of the paisleberry pie of my youth there should be one on the kitchen counter as I get home from work. And your fanciful tale of Tarbok Artoff taking up baking as a relaxation technique…yes, it was an excellent choice to provide an explanation farfetched enough that belief and non-belief were exactly equally optional, but really, Darling, I find it impossible to fathom those cloddish mitts of his mastering the delicate touch needed for such an exquisite crust."

Garak gently stroked Julian's hair. "A far less… genteel man, might use this time to further some untoward sexual agenda, but I find there is nothing I would add nor take away in that regard." He shrugged, then said, "Oh, but would the universe bend to my will, I would find you relieved of your anxiety at the temporary stay of our more carnal pursuits."

Garak sighed with exaggerated woe. "I suppose I blame myself a bit there. Perhaps I have been a little too vocal in my appreciation of your…skill in that department. But even now, after all the delightfully filthy things we've done to one another, I still half expect to find that flustered, blushing boy from so long ago in my bed."

Garak chuckled. "And as sweet he was, my love, how much do I prefer the man he is now?"

There was a flush to Julian's cheeks that Garak wished was due to the subject matter, not a rising fever. Garak brushed a thumb over one of the reddened cheeks.

"Even so, you must know, Darling, the warmth I find inside you is equally matched by the warmth of your smile or your rakish gaze upon my flesh or the elegant touch of your hand. Never doubt that you are an endless fascination to me, my beautiful boy, mind and body, heart and soul. Besides, I waited two of your lifetimes to have you in my bed, I can certainly wait out this pesky interruption with appropriate decorum."

"And speaking of decorum, that is more than enough of that kind of talk with an almost perfect stranger parked downstairs, ready to overhear something juicy." Garak looked down at his PADD. "I suppose I can tell you about the renovation of the Central Command compound. Well, renovation is a euphemism. Dismantling is more accurate. I'm afraid an agreement about what to do with the land will be something our platoon of Cardassian babies will be lucky to witness. You know, centuries ago, the property was home to the Castellan. It was one of the finest homes in the Alpha Quadrant during its prime. Spellbinding artwork; one of the largest collections of printed literature ever catalogued."

Garak leaned in close and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "There is a rumor; a legend, really, that there was a time when the Castellan had a smooth faced, unridged consort who hailed from some mysterious, foreign land. The story never says wife; or lady or dame; only consort. Make of that what you will. The dining room could easily seat 50; set nightly with the finest, hand blown glassware of the day. Apparently, there was no luxury spared in the building and outfitting of the home, some say, because the Castellan could refuse his beautiful consort nothing."

The afternoon passed with Garak spinning for Julian a picture of the most decadent, whimsical beautiful mansion he could imagine, describing in great detail all the many ways the home allowed the Castellan to pay homage to his great love.

His voice was hoarse when Julian came awake, but that was always Garak's cue to quit talking. It took Julian awhile to get his bearings, and the first detox found Garak hovering which, he finally realized, agitated Julian more than anything. Now, Garak excused himself—there was always some bit of work to occupy him--while their attendant saw to Julian's needs before tidying up and leaving them for the evening.

Garak would periodically look in on Julian, knowing eventually he would get a small smile from his husband and a motion to come closer.

"Are you back with me, love?" Garak asked, kissing Julian's forehead. "How do you feel, okay?"

Julian nodded slowly, eyes drifting shut.

Garak sat back at Julian's bedside, setting his agenda for the next day on his PADD. If he was lucky, he'd get about an hour or two into it before the agendas of others threw him off.

"The garden," Julian mumbled suddenly.

"What, Darling?" Garak asked absently, wondering if there was any way they could consolidate the meetings with Finance and Economic Development. Were they still sleeping together? Or was it the Minister of Health. Good heavens, all three of them weren't involved, were they? Honestly, Cardassia was a brave new world, but a little nod to traditional values wouldn't go amiss, at least not when it came to…

"At the palace," Julian said. "Tell me about the garden."

Garak felt a delicious warmth spread from his chest all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. Oh, so he had been listening, hadn't he?

Garak schooled his features and said dismissively, "A palace is where a princess in a fairy tale lives. The Castellan and his consort lived on an estate."

Julian smiled, eyes still closed. "All right then," he smoothly acquiesced. "The garden at the estate."

"The garden?" Garak repeated, tone not quite scolding, but close. "My dear, _the_ garden would suggest there was but one, and that's just patently ridiculous with an estate the size of the Castellan's."

"Mm," Julian said. "How were they named, then?" he asked, then suggested, "North, south…

"Oh no, no," Garak said. "Confusion would abound with simple directions for the names. Do you mean North as the house sits or North in relation to the planet's poles? Is it North as I stand looking at the front of the manse or as I stand within its walls? Next thing you know a bush that can only have sun in the morning has been unforgivably planted in the West garden!"

"Horrors!" Julian said.

"I can't imagine the Castellan was a forgiving man when it came to mistakes with his garden."

"Probably not," Julian agreed. "Particularly if he himself was experienced in the art."

"Mmm," Garak said noncommittally. "I believe one of the more beautiful was the Consort's garden," he said.

Julian's eyes flew open and he gaped at Garak in disbelief. "The _Consort's_ Garden? How scandalous!" Julian said, clearly delighted. "I can't imagine Cardassians condoning such crassness."

"Filled as it was with flora and fauna native to the Consort's home world, I imagine it was called the Terran garden at first, but you can imagine how well received that was by the general populous."

Julian wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Earth garden is so unpoetic, that wouldn't have passed muster for even a moment."

"Not even for a moment," Garak agreed. "So the Consort's garden it became."

"Was there a lemon tree?" Julian asked.

Garak shuddered in exaggerated revulsion. "Absolutely not."

Julian looked hurt. "But real, fresh lemon would be so lovely in the morning tea."

"I can't imagine a world where tea is enhanced in any way by the addition of sour acidic fruit."

"Maybe the consort asked so sweetly, the Castellan was powerless to refuse."

Garak wasn't convinced. "Hmm, it would seem the height of overindulgence to include in the garden a tree bearing fruit that only a single, solitary individual would enjoy."

"But don't you think if the consort really, really wanted the lemon tree, and it was within the Castellan's power to get him one, he would??" Julian asked, his green eyes impossibly sincere. "Don't you think there was a lemon tree?"

"I do not see how it enhances the story," Garak said, but Julian cocked his head to the side, so Garak sighed as though too exhausted to put up a fight. "All right then, a lonely little lemon tree sat in the far corner of the Consort's garden…"

 "And every morning," Julian said, sounding as if he was reading a children's book. "One of the consort's attendants would pick the ripest lemon and place the slices on the finest china plate for their beautifully laid breakfast table."

 "Ugh," Garak said, with dramatic eye roll included. "If you're not careful, you'll make yourself sick over such treacle."

 Julian laughed. He sighed and closed his eyes. "Thank you for my lemon tree," he said sweetly.

 "Yes, my selflessness knows no bounds," Garak said dryly.

 Julian opened his eyes and lifted a dubious brow. "If that were true, I wouldn't spend so many evenings trying to maneuver myself out of the wet spot in bed."

 "Well, in fairness, Darling, you are the source." Garak helped Julian settle back in bed, straightening the covers and smoothing the hair from his forehead.

 "Only because any fluids you might contribute have been tidily deposited inside me," Julian said primly.

 Garak laughed, then offered a helpless shrug that asked how that could possibly be his problem.


	3. And then Three More Months Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The throes of hurt/comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Presenting Garak and Bashir as I wish they had been written. Any resemblance to the characters as they appeared on the show is probably totally coincidental.

**_And then Three More Months Later_ **

"Elim!"

His name—uttered in a frantic moan—pierced through Garak's sleeping brain in an instant. It had been 30 years since coming awake in the dead of night caused even a moment's confusion, and this night would be no exception. Garak simply called, "Lights 20 percent," then said, "I'm here, Julian, what's wrong?"

Julian was sitting upright, cradling his forehead in his hands and rocking in misery. "Head, my head," he groaned.

Garak carefully slipped out of bed, knowing the slightest bump could make Julian sick. He found what he was looking for in the bathroom and returned with a hypo.

"Not to sleep," Julian said, "Just enough to dull the pain."

Garak sighed, but complied with Julian's wishes, administering just enough of the pain reliever to take the edge off. A minute later and Julian sighed, his tense body relaxing. He leaned heavily into Garak, whispering, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Garak kissed the top of his head and moved to return the empty hypo to the bathroom.

"No!" Julian said, grabbing his wrist. "Don't leave me! Don't leave!"

"Sweetheart, I'm not going anywhere," Garak said, sitting down and carefully wrapping Julian in his arms.

"Sorry," Julian whispered into Garak's shoulder. "I woke up and thought I'd be able to outrun the migraine if I could just get back to sleep."

Elim kissed his forehead. "I thought we agreed you were going to be more forthcoming about the discomfort you were feeling," he said gently.

They'd argued earlier in the month.

Past simply "unpleasant," the cumulative effect of the treatment meant that Julian was exhausted all the time. He'd taken a leave of absence from the hospital, only venturing there during one of the two days at the end of the detox period when, by some cruel irony of fate, he felt perfectly well. Garak thought those two days provided a perfect illustration of their different outlooks. Julian saw the days as a gift—a bonus where he could happily focus on work or a night out or the luxury of immersing himself in a good book. For Garak, the two days passed with his eye constantly on the clock, counting down how many hours, how many minutes left before Julian's treatment began anew.

Julian was always undergoing one test or another, and because he was a physician himself, the discussion of the results was carried on at a level far above the layman's understanding. But Garak was determined to understand, even though there was something about the tenderness with which Julian would pause to explain things to him made Garak loathe to ask him for more details. The idea that Julian should be protecting him in all of this was galling to say the least.

Usually, Garak looked to Dr. Noor for information about how Julian's treatment was progressing. She had a penchant for vague non-answers and platitudes worthy of the wiliest Cardassian politician, but certainly Garak of all people possessed the skills necessary to tease out more nuanced responses. Noor insisted Julian's treatment was progressing "as expected," and Julian explained they were staying the course because the test results were encouraging, so Garak took note of the battery of counts and levels and indicators and told himself things were going as well as could be expected.

Julian insisted the most troubling aspect of his illness was boredom—it was hard to get too involved in any task or activity when without warning overwhelming fatigue would lay him out.

He'd mentioned experiencing some weakness to his left side, though he'd been playing it off as minor tingling in his hand and foot, so Garak didn't know quite what to make of it when Julian called down to him from the bathroom one evening. "Can you…I need some… help."

Garak stuck his head in the door to find Julian leaning awkwardly against the bathroom sink, his left arm curled against his chest. "I can't… the fastener on my trousers," he muttered, his flushed, red face a picture of misery.

Garak was confused, but a quick once over suggested Julian's left hand was not working properly and the way he was supporting himself with his right hand on the countertop meant he was unable to work the button on his pants.

Hoping to ease Julian's painful embarrassment, Garak tried to joke, "When have I ever turned down the opportunity to get you out of your pants?" But Julian wouldn't even look at him, just kept his eyes averted as Garak lowered his pants to the floor. And then paused in abject horror. Julian's entire left side, from hip to ankle was covered in bruises. "You've fallen!" Garak said, and figured he would regret his accusatory tone later.

"Have I?" Julian said, sounding so condescendingly dismissive that Garak's mood morphed immediately from concern to anger.

He turned abruptly, allowing Julian a modicum of privacy to relieve himself, then silently drew up Julian's pants and fastened them. Garak moved to the bedroom and just stood there, seething, until Julian walked out— _limped_ out—to join him.

The brooding silence between them lengthened, weighing heavily in the room.

When Julian finally spoke, his voice was soft; almost beseeching. "Is it so hard to believe, Elim, that I should want to keep my… weaknesses private?" he asked.

"You are a doctor, Julian!" Garak said, frustrated at his husband's willful refusal to let him share this burden. "Do you really see illness as some kind of moral failing? That is how you've viewed the multitude of beings you've treated over the years? If they'd only tried a little harder, shown a little more fortitude they would not be ill in the first place?"

"Of course not," Julian muttered.

"Then help me understand!" Garak said.

Julian sighed and shook his head and for a moment, Garak thought he wasn't going to answer. Then he said, "I don't know if you can understand. I don't care that I need… assistance from time to time; it is that it feels like it has always been this way-- you offering strength and support and me this needy…burden."

"Well that is admiral historical revision if ever I've heard it," Garak said cuttingly. "And I am in the midst of rebuilding a culture nearly obliterated by a war where they were very often the aggressor. Admirable indeed."

"Don't belittle me!" Julian snapped.

Garak took a quick, deep breath then took a step backward and offered a slight bow of contrition. "I'm sorry," he said, and meant it. He was quiet for a moment, flummoxed that Julian should imagine such a distorted picture of reality. "But, Julian, you must know that you have seen me at my lowest low; at the pinnacle of weakness…"

"Not here," Julian said sullenly. "Here you've only ever been the strongest man I know."

And it was the kind of remark that Garak would ponder over for weeks. What exactly did he mean? Not here in the throes of illness? Not here in their home? Not here on Cardassia? Garak could just imagine Julian's smirking reaction if he should ask him to elaborate. "Now, Darling, just for clarity's sake, let's enumerate all the splendid ways my immeasurable strength has been demonstrated to you." It would almost be worth it to ask to just to enjoy Julian's chortling over his husband's notorious ego.

But in that moment, Garak wasn't going to get into some contest as to which of them was stronger or weaker at any given moment. In his mind it was never an either/or; it was a continuum; ebbing and flowing as their lives moved ever forward. Garak gently tilted Julian's chin so they were looking into one another's eyes. "Sometimes it seems like you think you were the only one who made those noble, ancient promises of better or worse, richer or poorer, sickness or health. I suppose I just agreed to for better, for richer and in health."

The sentiment struck a chord; Julian's defensive posture relaxed and he gave a shrugging, half nod that Garak took as grudging acknowledgement that he was in the wrong. "Those are preferable," Julian pouted.

Garak chuckled. "Yes, well, we have a saying here--when you're eating a gutfish, it doesn't matter if it's boiled or fried."

"That is hardly a fitting metaphor," Julian said with a grimace.

Garak said, "Darling, Kryholtz-Kiner is one gigantic gutfish, and it remains a gigantic gutfish, even if you don't share your discomfort with me." He gently kissed Julian's temple. "So you might as well share it."

"A burden shared is a burden halved, hmm?" Julian said.

Garak shrugged, "I'll leave the math to you, Sweetheart," he said.

It was quiet for a moment, then Julian said in a soft voice. "When I was first diagnosed, I thought—in my hubris—well, at least I know what's going to happen; I am, more than most, uniquely qualified to understand what it means to be ill, but…" Julian sighed, slowly shaking his head. "How profoundly mistaken I was. There are a great many things I never contemplated on my patients' behalf." he said.

Garak's heart twisted painfully in his chest, and he suddenly realized that as insistent as he'd been to know every detail of Julian's condition and treatment, the same could not be said about how Julian thought and felt about it. Even now, he had the urge to cajole Julian away from talking about it; to draw his attention to some silly, superfluous topic. The idea of Julian fretting about his illness; how the treatment was progressing; the uncertainty that was his future distressed Garak on such a fundamental level. He gave little mind to dealing with the physical repercussions of Julian's treatment, but the emotional repercussions terrified him.

Feeling like he'd swallowed sandpaper, Garak forced himself to guess, "Their discomfort?" And how desperately at that moment did he hate that Julian should now understand pain and sickness from this side of a biobed.

But Julian shook his head. "Discomfort is a knowable variable," he said easily. "Physiological reaction to injury, illness, treatment—that's all measurable." At Garak's dubious look, Julian shrugged elegantly. "Tolerance to that discomfort is different from one individual to the next, but the spectrum of it is generally within the expectation of medical personnel." He shook his head. "No, it is the… indignity that I never understood or appreciated. Of course, I recognized that one is… vulnerable when injured or ill, but vulnerability and indignity are two different animals."

Garak wanted to interject—to say there was no such thing as indignity between the two of them, but of course that wasn't true. It was true that he would gladly provide any care Julian needed; there was no remedy, no ablution, no task he was unwilling to perform so long as Julian, _his_ Julian, the Julian that he knew and loved beyond all sense and reason remained with him. But Garak knew with appalling certainty that were he in Julian's place, he would have found the entire situation untenable. The hypocrisy of it shamed him, and he ducked his head and said, "How so?"

"Vulnerability doesn't ask you to rethink your very being the way indignity does," Julian said. "It doesn't force you to recognize the gap that exists between who you think you are and who you are."

Garak didn't care if there was a gap between who Julian thought he was and who he actually was so long as he understood that, in actuality, he was wonderful. "Darling, from where I sit, all I've ever seen is your strength and your unflagging spirt in putting up with all of this"

Julian's eyes softened at Garak's words, his affection for his husband shining forth. "Badr says I should focus on all the ways this experience is making me a better doctor."

Dr. Badr Zanar was one of Julian's closest friends at Central. A Cardassian by birth, by nature he was from some other planet entirely. He practiced, as far as Garak was concerned, a holistic, wish-yourself-better kind of medicine that Garak couldn't fathom. "I'm sure Badr would also have you participating in drumming circles, magical dance therapy and tree hugging," Garak said.

Julian chuckled and made a face that indicated similar suggestions had been made. He reached out and absentmindedly rubbed Garak's arm. "I worry that what I will take away from this is only the memory of all the things I could no longer do for myself; all the times I fell; all the times I wanted more than anything to just give up…"

It took a long time for Garak to find his voice, and when he finally did, he was unable to do more than whisper. "I will only ever remember all the times you had the grace to let me help you; all the times you stood back up after you fell, and all the times you refused to admit defeat."

Julian had promised not to hide his difficulties from Garak, but now he shrugged at the reminder of that discussion. "We didn't say anything about waking you up out of a sound sleep," he said diffidently.

Garak harrumphed. "I didn't realize we needed to codify each and every circumstance under which you were expected to come forth…"

"And you call yourself the quintessential Cardassian?" Julian chided. He sucked in a quick breath and made a distressed sound, rubbing his forehead against Garak's shoulder.

"Don't you want to sleep?" Garak asked, gently rubbing Julian's back. "Let me give you the rest of the hypo."

Julian was still for a moment, then sighed. "If I have too much rubbish in my blood stream, we'll have to postpone the detox."

"Just a day or two…"

"Every extra day or two could mean other hypos and then another and two days becomes four becomes eight becomes…"

"So four becomes eight," Garak said. "I know you want this over with as soon as possible, my love; I do too. But I worry that your suffering needlessly invites some other complication."

Julian squeezed Garak's arm in comfort. "We should give you the hypo so you can sleep," he said. "I hate keeping you awake." Then he grinned up at Garak and squeezed his arm again. "Well, really what I hate is subjecting your poor colleagues to the wrath of an irritated, sleepless Minister."

Garak sat up straighter, clearly taking umbrage. "I am a paragon of professionalism on 20 hours sleep or two," he said.

Julian chuckled. "Shin Sayru is the only Cardassian I've ever seen cry," he said pointedly. Shin was Garak's undersecretary.

The tears, of course, were easily explained. "He was simply overcome with emotion due to my passionate advocacy for rebuilding the Warnok Library."

Julian gave a huff of amusement then sighed. He settled himself against Garak and said, "We're good now, Love. I'll sleep in a bit."

"How smart you are, Darling," Garak whispered.

Julian snickered again. "Not so long ago, I helped develop an inoculation strategy that meant improved health for hundreds of thousands of children," he said, a hint of longing in his tone. "And now my grand accomplishment is falling back asleep after waking in the middle of the night."

"Your exemplary talents know no bounds," Garak said, a defensive tilt to his chin. There was nothing remotely teasing in his tone.

Julian reached up and gently traced one of the ridges above Garak's eye. "I hope someday I have the chance to show you such faith, Elim. It feels lovely."

Garak gently pushed Julian back so he could see his face. He could only gape in surprise that Julian should not see what was so obviously apparent to him. He slowly shook his head and said, ""You continue to vex me in new and untold ways, Julian Bashir. The last five years have been nothing if not one long testament of your steadfast faith."

"How do you figure?" Julian asked.

And were their positions reversed, it would be a fair assumption that Garak was fishing. But this was Julian, after all.

"Oh, I don't know, let's see," Garak said, eyes cast skyward as if to draw some necessary inner fortitude. "When I said have lunch with me, and you said yes; when I said, surely you have time for dinner in my quarters, and you said yes; when I said come to bed with me, and you said yes; when I said rebuild Cardassia with me, and you said yes; when I said come to Lakat with me—it is the city most dire in condition with the best chance of reviving, and you said yes; when I said join with me in a traditional Cardassian marriage, and you said yes. My dear Julian, every gesture I've made since you became ill is a pale imitation of the faith you continually invest in me."

Julian flushed in pleasure. He reached up and cupped Garak's face in his hands, eyes shining. "Sometimes I wonder what sort of things you might say to me if you could stomach the romantic drivel you hate so about Earth literature."

They managed a little bit more sleep that night. Garak headed off to work, tired, yes, but more curious about the secret little half smile on Julian's face as he saw Garak out the door. Garak—to his reckoning--remained civil to his colleagues and returned home that evening to find Julian still wearing that enigmatic smile.

Julian labeled his day a good one, good enough that he and Garak made a slow, careful trek around the block after dinner. Touching solidly from shoulder to foot so Garak could support Julian should he falter, Garak held tightly to the underside of Julian's forearm, counting steps to keep anxiety from bubbling up. Were they waking faster or slower than the day before? Was Julian supporting himself more or less? Was he more tired than the day before? Should they turn back sooner than yesterday? No, no, no, 45, 46, 47, 48--that was a much better way to occupy his thoughts.

"Do you know what's funny?" Julian asked in a tone used for only the most polite conversation.

"What?" Garak said, eyes on Julian's feet to make sure the left wasn't dragging.

"All those questions you thought you were asking?"

Garak could hear the teasing delight in Julian's tone, so he refused, on principle, to look up. "Mmm hmm?"

"I thought they were irrefutable demands."

Garak couldn't school his smile fast enough, casting his eyes sideways and enjoying a flush of warmth when he saw Julian's self-satisfied grin. "Oh that is funny," Garak agreed, his own tone every inch as overly polite as Julian's. "I suspect that's one of the reasons we get on so well—our shared sense of humor."

"I dare say you're right," Julian agreed. And if for the rest of their walk, he leaned on Garak far more than necessary; well, Garak wasn't going to worry about that.


	4. Almost Through It All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why have less hurt/comfort when you can have more?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Presenting Garak and Bashir as I wish they had been written. Any resemblance to the characters as they appeared on the show is probably totally coincidental.
> 
> This chapter has a Garak's whose past is decidedly less gray, figuratively speaking.

**Almost Through It All**

Garak dried his meager dinner dishes and returned them to the cabinet. Julian had been sleeping when he arrived home from work, so he was puttering around a bit before sitting with his husband for the rest of the evening. He'd heard the medical update from that evening's attendant Raylah. She'd discussed the next morning's treatment and attendant schedule, then efficiently excused herself.

Garak sighed in satisfaction. Such appropriate clinical distance. He appreciated it more than he could say. He couldn't imagine having to contend with simpering sympathy on top of everything else.

Some kind soul had dropped off…something in a casserole dish. It certainly wasn't Madam Almaya's handiwork. She might be a thorn in Garak's side, but that old woman could cook. Many a friend had kept Garak and Julian well stocked with food through their ordeal, and a good number of them made up for in their generosity what they lacked in cooking talent. Garak's office tended to be the dumping ground for a lot of the dishes. Staffers used to be enthusiastic when Garak came into the office carrying a covered dish. Now, the reaction was decidedly less chipper. A quick peak under the dish's cover and Garak quickly decided that whatever was today's casserole would have to wait for a braver soul to determine. Garak opted to reheat some soup he'd made the day before.

Dinner dishes dried and put away, Garak gathered up his PADD and moved to the small, downstairs office that had been converted for Julian, with a personal biobed and a medichair with an electronic lift that made it easier to sit and stand.

Julian was still asleep, and Garak smiled that he was neither in the bed nor the chair, but rather on the small couch where the two of them could nestle together as they recounted their day. Garak immediately noticed that Julian's left hand was in a tight fist, curved awkwardly on his chest. The last few weeks, the intermittent weakness of his left side had become less intermittent, more constant. Neither Julian nor Dr. Noor seemed unduly concerned. Julian had asked if his ability to perform surgery might be impacted and Noor said it wouldn't. Apparently, once the medications were well and truly out of Julian's system, there should be no permanent effects.

Garak still felt his heart clench in his chest every time he saw Julian's hand unwittingly curled into that unmoving fist.

Garak's heart clenched in his chest for a lot of reasons these days. Julian couldn't walk more than a few steps unaided, and he looked so fragile now. His skin was almost translucent—sometimes Garak imagined he could almost see the arteries, veins, and bones, like a medical school sim come to life. Julian had always been thin--to the point of pronounced self-consciousness, even--but now Garak understood what it meant to describe someone as "painfully" thin. It looked to him like Julian's ribs could break through the skin if he moved too suddenly in one direction or another.

But through it all, through the discomfort, through all the inconvenience of illness, it was still Julian there in his pretty green eyes. So much had been lost to Julian in the last year, but he was still the same sweet, gentle man he'd always been. Perhaps that was why Garak hadn't flown apart into a thousand irreparable pieces—because his essential Julian was still here, asking after his day, laughing at Garak's overly dramatized tales from the office, imagining Cardassia's future with wide eyed optimism that should have irritated Garak but only ever charmed him.

Garak placed a gentle kiss to Julian's forehead, and sat down in the seat next to the couch. Julian opened his eyes and blinked, offering Garak a sleepy half-smile. He asked for the time, and his eyes drifted shut as the computer said it was 19:27. Garak hadn't even realized they'd started their day in pretty much the same position until Julian licked his lips and without opening his eyes, said, "Please tell me there was actually a day, and that you participated in it."

Garak chuckled. "What if I told you we've taken a vote and all of Cardassia has agreed to postpone everything until you are well and back with us?"

"If you tell me it was unanimous, I'll know you're lying because there's no way that crusty old man who works at the general store voted for that."

"There might have been a few abstentions, but I don't recall any no votes," Garak said. "And before you label anyone crusty, remember, you were in his very masculine establishment asking if he carried any lace."

"Lace and hammer sound very similar in Cardassian," Julian said.

"They don't even share a single letter in common," Garak replied.

"He knew what I meant," Julian said darkly.

It was quiet for a moment, and Garak thought Julian had fallen back asleep until he roused and said, "Is Raylah still here? Have you eaten dinner? Her mother-in-law is visiting and she sent Ray with several covered dishes, but she kept apologizing about it and I'm not quite sure why—because she brought us food? Because she brought us food a human wouldn't like? Because she brought us food no one anywhere would like?"

So much for clinical distance.

Garak smiled, amused, as ever, with Julian's verbosity. "Raylah has left us for the evening; I have eaten dinner, and I didn't realize the offering on the counter was from Raylah, but I believe, and I say this with deepest gratitude for the generosity of both Raylah and her mother-in-law, the apology is because she brought food no one anywhere would like."

"Take it with you tomorrow and see if anyone at your office will eat it," Julian said. "And don't forget to tell Ray it was lovely."

"If we do that, Darling, our only reward will be the gift of more inedible food."

"It was still lovely that she brought it," Julian said, then motioned for Garak to sit down next to him. "Tell me what amazing things you accomplished today," he said, kissing Garak's cheek after he moved over next to Julian.

"Today, my dear, we finally secured the financing for the first phase of the railway reconstruction."

"Really?" Julian said, pulling back to look at Garak's face. "That's amazing! How extraordinary! I thought you told me there wasn't a minister in three quadrants who would be able to bring all the groups together to get that done."

"Did I?" Garak said. "I don't usually underestimate myself like that."

Julian smiled at him with such warmth. "I think you're wonderful," he said.

Garak filled him in on the details, embellishing only a little and only then because it seemed to tickle Julian when he did.

"Cardassia is lucky to have you," Julian said, affectionately rubbing Garak's chest.

"And how was your day?" Garak asked, kissing the top of Julian's head.

"Where to start?" Julian said. He paused for a beat, his voice growing softer, more gentle. "Dr. Noor stopped by earlier. Elim, we both think the hospital is the better choice to finish out my treatment…"

Garak disengaged from Julian's side, careful not to hurt him, but rigid with sudden displeasure. He stood up, lifting his chin and setting his mouth in a thin line. "Ah, this is why you're being so sweet to me."

Julian's eyes narrowed. "I’m always sweet to you," he said.

For several days, they'd been talking—disagreeing—about Julian staying in the hospital for the final round of treatment and detox.

Julian sided with Dr. Noor who made it sound as though admitting Julian to the hospital was just an issue of convenience—Julian needed more assistance now than he had in the past, plus the amount of medication he required was becoming much refined one day to the next—how much simpler would life be if Julian was in the hospital close by?

Garak couldn't help but feel like the suggestion—and Julian's agreement with it--was a rebuke of the care he was giving. Yes Julian needed more assistance, but they had medical attendants at the house almost full time; one would arrive in the morning before Garak left for work; then five or six hours later a replacement would arrive, staying until right before Julian retired for the evening. The attendants helped with Julian's mobility, monitored his condition, took medical readings, exchanged communications with Dr. Noor and the next morning's treatment was calibrated and readied for Garak to administer.

If Garak were honest—and he was always impeccably so with himself—he wondered if there wasn't some deeper—darker—reason that Julian would opt for the hospital.

Several weeks earlier, Julian had suffered an utter breakdown. He'd been struggling with the daily hypo injections; the immediate reaction after the shot causing increasingly terrible discomfort. Julian described it as feeling like all of his nerve endings were on fire; like being covered with open wounds and then shockingly doused with hydrogen peroxide. The effect only lasted 30 minutes at most, but Garak knew well there is no such thing as 'only' when it came to such pain.

It had been a typical morning--Garak was in the kitchen, having left Julian and his attendant Marsol to Julian's morning routine. He'd set his teacup in the sink and was getting ready to go sit with Julian through the reaction from his treatment when the bathroom door slammed and Marsol gave a startled yelp of surprise.

Garak hurried to the bedroom to find Marsol standing outside the closed bathroom door, looking shocked. "He…uh, he locked the door!" Marsol said.

Garak gave a smooth bow, letting Marsol know Garak held no blame, then he motioned for him to wait elsewhere while he took care of the issue.

Garak gave the command to unlock the door and quickly took in the situation. Julian had somehow cornered himself in the small bathroom. He was sitting on the floor trying to disappear into the wall it seemed. Garak was shocked by the terror on Julian's face. He was violently shuddering, and he held out a shaking hand to keep Garak from coming any closer. "I can't!" he said in a choked, frightened whisper. "I can't, I can't, I can't!"

Garak very slowly knelt down in front of his husband. "Can't what?" he asked gently.

Julian's eyes darted to the bathroom counter and back to Garak. "Please, I can't, I can't! Garak, please!"

Garak looked over at the counter, but all he saw was the hypo, ready for Julian to inject. He carefully turned back to Julian. "The hypo?" he asked.

"I can't!" Julian said. He reached toward Garak, and Garak used the opportunity to move closer, his heartbeat racing as Julian frantically grabbed his shirt and pleaded for his understanding. "I tried, I tried, Elim, I promise, I promise, but it burns, and I can't anymore!"

Garak managed sit down next to Julian on the bathroom floor and slip an arm around behind him. "Oh my love, I'm sorry," Garak whispered. "So sorry, I'm so sorry." And Garak was; he was infinitely sorry only because the one thing, the only thing Julian had asked for in all of this mess—release—was the one thing Garak would never grant him.

"Every day, every day I tell myself I have to do it, I have to do it, I have to keep going. Every day," Julian said, eyes glassy and staring straight ahead. Garak wondered if he even realized Garak was sitting there with him. "And I know, I know, Cardassia needs doctors and-and-and we have to rebuild and-and-and there are so many, so many counting on me, and I know I have to try, I have to keep trying, but I can't, Elim! I can't!"

"No," Garak said mildly. "No, Sweetheart. We need doctors, to be sure, but not you specifically."

"No?" Julian said, his face wet with tears and his eyes so suddenly hopeful it hurt Garak's heart.

"No," Garak said. "Oh, but Darling, I'm sorry… I'm so sorry for these words, you'll have to forgive me; that's all I can say is that you must forgive me, but my Heart, my Own, you know there's no place for me here or anywhere without you."

Julian moaned long and low, the sound coming from deep inside his chest.

"You knew from the start, my Love. You knew when you came to me; when my beautiful boy came to me, so sweet and gentle, when your beautiful voice whispered to a soul I thought too dormant to ever revive; you knew then. You're all there is of me, Julian. And I'm sorry to place more on those weary shoulder, I'll spend the rest of our lives begging forgiveness but you must never forget the only way I can ever be is with you."

"But I can't anymore," Julian said, sounding horrified. "I can't."

"I'm sorry," Garak said, and he held Julian's head firmly to his chest so Julian couldn't see his tears. "My love, my dearest love, I'm sorry, but you must."

"How?" Julian moaned into Garak's chest. "Tell me how."

"We'll stand back up," Garak said softly. "And you'll get back into bed. I will give you the hypo and you will burn and hurt and despair and then my sweet and only love, you will sleep, and it will be better for a time."

"But tomorrow," Julian whispered. "And tomorrow after that and tomorrow after that…"

"Yes," Garak said. "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow."

Julian's eyes were closed, but several tears leaked out, sliding slowly down his cheeks. "Sound and fury," he whispered, but Garak didn't understand the reference.

Julian opened his eyes, and cradled in Garak's arms, there was no place for him to look but up into Garak's sad face. They stared at one another, both so sorry and tired and lost. Sick.

Julian's head moved first, but then he took a breath, and gave voice to his nodding. "Yes."

Garak had no illusions about who he had been once upon a time. He had done cruel, unforgiveable things in his past, and even if his actions were in the service of a more just; sustainable world, he would forever live with the knowledge that other means to his end had always been available—not as expedient, perhaps—not as effective, but his choices were his to live with, and he did not lose a preponderance of sleep over a life he had long since left behind.

He had never had the luxury of faith in some omniscient, omnipotent god; and he believed in the concept of karma only to the extent that a person's past informed their present—and sometimes one's history bred guilt or resentment or entitlement that led them to make decisions with consequences that seemed like justice imparted by the universe.

Observing Julian suffer in the throes of illness came close to making him rethink that opinion. Garak would have learned nothing new about himself or the world he lived in had he been the one who was ill, but watching Julian was an agony of new thoughts and feelings Garak had never imagined existed.

And how it galled him some days, how incensed was he to think of the power he'd held—still held if only he wanted to wield it—to think of all he was at liberty to harness and none of it— _none_ of it—could be used to help Julian. He'd grudgingly agreed (not promised, he told himself, but agreed) that he would not employ nefarious means in helping Julian battle his illness, but he would have if there'd been cause. He would have used them—happily and guiltlessly--and lied about it with the ease of a five year old shrugging their innocence at an empty plate despite the cookie crumbs covering their face.

But there was nothing to be done—immoral or otherwise—that wasn't already being done.

And if watching Julian suffer was excruciating, being the one inflicting that suffering upon him was almost more than Garak could abide.

Every brutal act he'd ever committed; every body he'd ever harmed; every sin executed in the delusion of a greater good rested upon Garak's shoulders as the hypo hissed against Julian's neck in the morning.

And it was the least Garak could do; the smallest, most insignificant thing he could possibly do to remain at Julian's side and bear witness to his misery. Julian barely made a sound; just concentrated on modulating his breathing; spasmodically gripping and releasing the sheets; sweating profusely and only a terrible wildness in his eyes revealed his trauma.

And the worst of it; the absolutely intolerable part of it was that once the intensity of the reaction eased; once he was moments from the blissful release of sleep, Julian would find Garak's eyes, try to smile, and whisper, "Thank you."

Garak allowed himself the worry that somehow Julian would associate _him_ with the pain and misery of his illness; that perhaps the desire to move to the hospital was Julian's way of escaping Garak's hand in his suffering.

And then an even deeper, darker thought that Garak could barely acknowledge—maybe Julian was trying to find a more neutral location where he could succumb once and for all to Kryholtz-Kiner.

And as was often the case, Garak's fear tended to manifest itself in the guise of irrational anger.

"How could the hospital possibly be the better choice?" Garak snapped. "You've always said a hospital is the worst place for a sick person—the best option is always to get them well enough to be sent home!"

"We're not going to debate medical generalities versus a specific case," Julian said dismissively.

"We shouldn't be debating anything!" Garak said, voice rising.

"And yet here we are!" Julian said.

"That is not how it works, Julian!" Garak yelled. "This is not what we agreed to!" He couldn't pace in the small bedroom, but his body language clearly conveyed his agitation. "You had no idea what you were promising when you agreed to a traditional Cardassian marriage," he said venomously. "Because if you did, this discussion would have ended days ago and my decision would be final!"

"I knew exactly what I promised," Julian replied with infuriating calm. "Because I knew my husband, my Elim, would never order me to do something I was adamantly opposed to doing! It was like promising to enjoy the sun after a month of rain, and I would do it again a hundred times over!"

"No, you made an empty promise you always thought you could just charm your way out of anytime you wanted, and you are not charming your way out of this!"

"Out of what?" Julian shouted. "What exactly am I trying to deceive you into accepting? All I'm saying is that during this last phase of my treatment, the hospital can take better care…"

"No one can take better care of you than I can!" Garak shouted.

The flood of compassion in Julian's green eyes nearly undid Garak. He turned his back to Julian and for a few beats did nothing but breathe and remember how delicious it felt when his tailor shop on DS9 exploded.

And as if they were calmly discussing whether or not to read the new spy novel by St. Claire or the Cardassian mystery Vartan recently published, Julian quietly said, "Sit down, Love, I need to tell you something."

And then Garak suddenly remembered that feeling from so long ago, when he'd walked into the house and had known something was unalterably wrong. He'd wanted to just walk out, walk away, and he felt that way now.  

But Julian just sat there, silently, expectantly and patiently waiting for Garak to sit. Julian nodded at the spot next to him on the couch and Garak felt another swell of anger. He had stood unmoved against forces of evil most sentient beings couldn't imagine in the darkest confines of their minds, and now he was reduced to obeying the slightest of nods from his human husband.

It seemed like Julian was tracking his thought pattern. Julian lifted a single brow, his expression equal parts challenge and amusement.

With a sigh of exasperated capitulation, Garak sat down across from Julian rather than next to him and pretended he didn't see Julian's tender look of understanding, so similar to a look he'd given Garak all those months ago.

Julian took a deep breath, released it, and stared straight into Garak's eyes. Then he said very slowly and distinctly, "I'm going to be okay."

Garak blinked.

Julian gave a little apologetic shrug. "I would have told you sooner, but I had to wait until I was sure."

"And now you're sure?" Garak asked, his dry tone making the corner of Julian's lips briefly quirk upwards.

"Yes," Julian nodded, eyes clear, his face achingly open. "We're almost there, Elim," he said. "We've got this last bit to go, and yes, it's going to be…"

"Unpleasant?" Garak sarcastically guessed.

Julian smiled. "Exactly. And then we'll be done and our biggest concern will once again center on whether we want a gaggle of Cardassian babies or a bushel."

Garak sighed and shook his head. "Darling, as pep talks go, this one is a mixed bag,"

"You're awfully excitable, Love," Julian said. "The conversations go off track with alarming speed."

"Were I you, I might have led with the 'going to be okay' part," Garak said.

"Yes, that does seem to make more sense," Julian agreed.

It was quiet—all the more so for the shouting that had just gone on. Garak finally said, "I hate to think of our home…as a place of pain you seek to escape. I hate to think I'm to blame for…"

"Elim Garak, how can you simultaneously be the smartest being I know and the most ridiculous?" Julian said crossly.

"How can you not blame me when I am the one every morning who presses that hypo into your neck and brings such misery upon you?" Garak asked.

"I suppose mostly because I am a physician, and I understand what causes illness," Julian said. He just shook his head at Garak's irritated look. "No," he said emphatically. "I am not feeding your delusions of control. I know exactly what role you play in all of this, and it is only ever a warrior fighting at my side."

Garak sighed. "I shouldn't have made you feel like you are responsible for my every breath," he said softly. "That is not a burden you should endure right now."

Julian shrugged away the thought. "During one of our walks not long ago, I apologized because I was leaning so heavily against you, you might as well have been carrying me. And you said to me, 'Not to worry, Darling. It's a weight worth bearing.'" Julian smiled at the memory. "Some days…" Julian sighed and shook his head. "Some days, Elim, I have to remind myself over and over again of those words. If your… _our_ dependence is a weight, please know I bear it gladly because I so want the weight between us to be shared." He held his hand out to Garak, and of course, Garak took it. He sat down next to Julian and brought the hand to his lips for a gentle kiss.

"Now what?" Garak asked.

"Now take me to bed and hold me," Julian answered.

Garak was happy to oblige. He settled Julian into bed, leaving his own nightly ablutions for later, after Julian fell asleep when Garak would move to the lonely bed upstairs. Garak slid under the covers and tenderly gathered Julian to him, reaching his arms around Julian until his back was tight to Garak's chest.

"Do you know what my favorite thing about sleeping with you is?" Julian said. He sounded drowsy already.

Garak slipped his hand into Julian's sleep pants and cupped his genitals, applying just the slightest bit of pressure. "Yes, I do," Garak said in a low voice, right into Julian's ear.

Julian huffed in amusement and said, "Do you know what my second favorite thing about sleeping with you is?"

Garak chuckled too. "What, my love?"

"Take a deep breath," Julian said.

Puzzled, Garak did as he was asked, and Julian sighed with deep satisfaction.

"That," he said. "The way your body touches mine when you breathe. On every inhale and exhale. When all you're doing is just being, so close to me that you're part of me."

Garak moved impossibly closer, careful, so careful, not to add any discomfort. "I despair that I haven't yet cured you of such unforgivable romanticism," he whispered, and felt the rumble of Julian's laugh in his own chest as his husband drifted off to sleep.


	5. The Last of It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even hurt/comfort has to eventually get to The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Presenting Garak and Bashir as I wish they had been written. Any resemblance to the characters as they appeared on the show is probably totally coincidental.

**The Last of It**

As Garak walked toward Central Hospital with a spring in his step, he remembered, almost a year ago, when walking down the street found him with the oddest compulsion to grab perfect strangers and explain to them his predicament. Now, nearly a year later, he had a similar compulsion, only this time it was the compulsion to grab a stranger and share his good fortune.

_Why so glum?_ He'd think as he passed someone intent on crossing the street. _Haven't you heard? My Julian is going to be well!_

It was toward the end of Julian's third week in the hospital, and it was only recently that they had crossed some invisible line where instead of every day bringing them closer to the absolute worst of Julian's illness, now every day was carrying them further away from it.

There had been a handful of days toward the beginning of Julian's hospital stay where Julian had been lost to him. Trapped in a hazy half-conscious state, Julian seemed unaware of his surroundings or what was happening, but as he started up toward more solid consciousness, Garak realized he'd been more aware than they thought—and more terrified. As Garak had coped better with Julian's physical deterioration so long as his mental faculties remained intact, so it must have been for Julian. Garak often forgot Julian's tendency to believe his intellect was the only worthy attribute he possessed.

How much of the children we once were remains, Garak thought to himself as he gently dried tears that were slipping down Julian's cheeks revealing his struggle to make sense of where he was. A little boy locked in a closet; another little boy obliterated and replaced with a higher functioning model.

Well. Garak certainly didn't have time to ponder such gloomy thoughts, especially now. A week ago, he had begun a project. At first he'd thought of it as Julian's gift, but a _gift_ was something given freely, essentially unearned. Julian had earned Garak's offering a thousand times over.

The idea began one evening the week before when Garak arrived at the hospital. Julian was lying flat on the bed. His blood pressure still hadn't regulated and even at a slight incline, he would only stay conscious a few minutes. He'd spent a very boring few days, fully conscious and aware, but able to do little but lie there and stare at the ceiling.

"Do you need anything?" Garak asked.

Julian shook his head. "Just a few minutes with you," he said. 

"Such a sweet talker," Garak teased.

Julian chuckled. "I guess I should wait a minute then to ask you to read from the new med journal I downloaded."

Garak reached for the PADD, but said, "Sweetheart, you don't have to wait for me, the computer can recite it."

"I know," Julian said with a shrug. "But I prefer your voice."

Garak briefly perused one of the articles then pursed his lips in suspicion. "Are you sure it's not because you want to ridicule my pronunciation of these medical terms?"

Julian tsked at Garak. "That would be uncalled for," he said. "It's not like you've ever ridiculed my Cardassian."

One of the articles Garak read was about a treatment which essentially put the patient into a kind of stasis until the regime was completed. The stasis period might last four months, six months even, then the patient would be brought back to consciousness to find themselves disease-free.

"We never discussed this as an option," Garak said, after he finished the article.

"It's experimental yet," Julian said. "And so far, there hasn't been any indication that cure rates are substantially better. Can you imagine entering the treatment, and then realizing right at the end it had been for nothing? Months you could have lived wasted in stasis." Julian shook his head. "If it had been the only chance for survival, then of course, I would have tried it." He smiled at Garak. "I'm a firm believer that life is better than death."

Garak was surprised at how effortlessly Julian dismissed the idea. "After having suffered through almost a year of illness, knowing the extent of it, you wouldn't opt to avoid all of that misery?"

" _Especially_ knowing what I know now, I wouldn't choose it," Julian said. "Particularly if the only aspect of the treatment I was seeking to avoid was some discomfort."

Garak lifted a brow in challenge. "And still we are calling it 'some discomfort.' You are a wonder, my dear."

Julian chuckled. "If I had been in stasis the last year, I would have no idea about how kind and generous and thoughtful our friends have been. I would have no idea of the lengths your co-workers and mine would go to so that our burdens might be eased. I would have spent the entirety of my professional career missing an essential understanding of illness and suffering and the curative power of hope."

Julian shared a secret smile with his husband. "And I never would have known about paisleberry pie or the history of your most rebellious Castellan and his daring Consort's garden." Julian smiled at Garak's affected air of nonchalance.

"And, Elim," he said, voice dropping to a whisper. "The gift of your devotion this last year is a… a treasure; and whether or not I deserved it, it has changed me in a most fundamental way." He shrugged, and said. "I am a richer, better man in countless ways because of this last year. Unconsciousness would have been an unforgiveable alternative."

The conversation stayed with Garak. He wasn't sure what choice he would have made had he been ill; he certainly wasn't sure if _he_ was a better man for having witnessed Julian's suffering… for having suffered himself with the fear and uncertainty and horror of it all. Did it even matter? They weren't about to go back and replay any of this.

Garak pondered the issue as he walked to work, to the hospital, through the stalls at the open market. Julian's vast amount of gratitude wasn't surprising to Garak, but what intrigued him was the choice of it. Certainly, Julian could have focused on the fickle capriciousness of the universe; he could have ended up bitter and resentful at the time lost, at the suffering few would ever understand or appreciate. He made a conscious decision about what he would take away from this most terrible experience and the overarching theme that he chose was gratitude—gratitude for what he'd learned and how it had changed him.

Garak felt gratitude as well, but it was all focused on Julian; on his unwavering determination to live no matter what he had to endure. Garak became obsessed with expressing his gratitude to Julian, and _thank you_ felt terribly inadequate.

And then, one morning, Garak caught site of a headline on his PADD that said, "Castellan Re-Opens University Library," and he smiled, an idea starting to take shape.

He would need help; guidance at least, and as luck would have it, Garak just so happened to be acquainted with someone who could give him exactly the help he needed. That evening he sat down with his PADD and searched through Julian's contacts until he found the name he wanted—Keiko O'Brien. He thought for a minute about the subject line of the comm. Julian periodically updated his friends on his condition, so those email always saw "Julian Bashir" in the "From" line. Given his precarious health status the last few months, an email with Elim Garak in the "From" line could cause undue alarm. Simplicity was always best, Garak figured, and set his subject: _Botanical Inquiry_ , and then began asking his questions.

The last few days had been a whirlwind of activity, although the night before, Garak had taken a night off from his endeavors to attend the opening performance of the Lakat Symphony Orchestra. In the bright light of day, Garak would have much preferred to devote those hours to his project, but the arts needed to be encouraged if Cardassia was to reach her full potential.

Julian had been far more excited for Garak's night out than Garak himself, and Garak found himself chuckling as he walked into the hospital and headed to Julian's room and imagined sharing details of the evening with his husband.

Julian's eyes were closed, but the bed had been raised so he was likely just dozing. Sure enough, he turned toward the door as it opened, smiling brightly in welcome. "Good morning!" he said.

Garak laughed as usual. He walked through that door every single morning, always within the same five minute window, and every single morning, Julian acted like it was the most unexpected pleasure he could imagine that Garak should be there.

"Good morning, my dear. Did you sleep well?"

Garak gently picked up Julian's hand from atop his chest and started to work out the stiffness; coaxing the fingers to uncurl and the hand to once again receive proper signals from Julian's brain.

Garak closely watched Julian's face for signs of discomfort—sometimes the joints were swollen and sore, but that morning Julian just closed his eyes. "Mmm, thank you," he said softly.

They were quiet for a moment, then Julian made a surprised sound as he remembered where Garak had been the night before. "Oh! How was the symphony?" he asked.

"Ah, the concert hall renovation is impressive!" Garak said. "I can't wait for you to see it. Modern enough but just the right nod to tradition. Smaller, of course, than it once was, but the hall was nicely filled."

"And the orchestra?" Julian said.

"Obviously thrilled to be there," Garak said with great sincerity.

Julian tried to school his smile. "How did they play?"

"In their formal attire," Garak said, as if that was welcomed news indeed. "They looked beautiful on the stage. Very professional."

Julian was smiling full on now. "And the crowd? Did they enjoy the performance?"

"To a person, I'd say they were pleased beyond measure to be dressed in their finest and out on the town."

Julian's eyes were dancing with mirth. "How did the orchestra sound?" he asked.

"Darling, I am not exaggerating when I tell you the acoustics in the hall are the finest I have heard in quite some time," Garak said.

Julian couldn't hold it in anymore and started laughing. "Oh, I love you, Elim Garak," he said.

Garak chuckled too, then offered a dramatic sigh of regret. "Even though I've trapped you in a land with the least talented symphony orchestra in all the known universe?"

Julian hugged Garak's hands to his chest and those expressive eyes of his warmed into such adoration, Garak was almost—almost—moved to look away. "Even so," Julian said softly.

Garak nuzzled the top of Julian's head. "Then how fortunate am I?" he whispered.

"No more so than those of us who are very nearly free of these brazenly inappropriate displays the two of you insist upon," Dr. Noor said, casually leaning in the doorway.

"One would think you would make a subtle show to reveal your presence rather than stand there and observe," Garak said, eyebrow imperiously arched. "And observe and observe and observe."

Noor's shrug seemed to acknowledge Garak's suggestion as a possibility but gave no indication that she might someday be inclined to follow it. Her bedside manner usually made Madam Almaya seem warm and fuzzy by comparison, but today her eyes were shining with pleasure. "All right Dr. Bashir," she said. "Consider this the officially official proclamation that we've done it!"

"All clear?" Julian said, his smile blinding.

"All clear," she said and Julian laughed in delight even as Garak found his knees so suddenly weak he had to hold onto the bed as he indelicately fell into a chair.

"Officially official?" Garak echoed.

"No sign of disease," Noor said confidently. "We'll keep you another two weeks or so—I want you in PT every day to make sure that leg and hand are back at 100%. If I find you back here because you took a header off a curb, I'll never hear the end of it!"

And those ten days would be almost enough time to put the finishing touches on his offering, Garak thought happily.

From that moment on, Julian's focus became physical therapy and Garak's was his project. He was sure he was being discrete in his delight, but time and the last year's trauma must have softened him almost beyond repair. One evening, Julian watched him shrewdly as he prepared to leave for the evening. Garak had a laundry list of To Do's every evening when he got home, and while many a being might have felt overwhelmed at the idea of several hour's work awaiting them after a full day at the office, it only served to energize Garak.

And that energy was in no way lost on Julian. "Just what are you up to?" Julian asked. He had shooed away Garak's help as he walked from bed to bathroom and back to bed again, and rolling his eyes at Garak's enthusiastic appreciation for his efforts. "You are giddy as a schoolchild."

"Darling, you've been deathly ill for _months_!" Garak protested with wounded innocence. "Surely I’m allowed a certain amount of giddy relief in your return to good health!"

Julian crossed his arms and thoughtfully pursed his lips. "This is not pleased-for-others'-good-fortune giddiness, this is pleased-beyond-all-reason-at-my-own-cleverness giddiness!"

Garak just huffed at the injustice of accusation, but Julian was obviously running possible scenarios through his mind. He stopped on one that was clearly upsetting as his face morphed into a look of abject horror. He leaned in and said in a hissing whisper, "Elim Garak, I swear by all you hold dear, if there is a basket of Cardassian babies on the front porch when we get home…"

"A basket of…" Garak repeated incredulously. "I know Dr. Noor said there would be no permanent impairment from your treatments, but I think I may have to insist upon one more brain scan before we head home!"

"Oh you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Julian said. "You could probably toss four or five more babies in there in the time it takes to run and read a scan!"

Garak glared at him. "Where's the man who was so sure his husband wouldn't make decisions to which he was vehemently opposed."

"To which he _knew_ I was vehemently opposed," Julian corrected. "He is not so predictable when he thinks he knows especially when what he thinks he knows isn't what is actually…"

" _He_ is vehemently opposed to being referred to in the third person, should you wonder," Garak said.

"He started it," Julian said.

For the next two weeks, Garak made a modest effort to convince Julian there would be no surprise mob of Cardassian babies waiting for them when Julian returned home, but then, he didn't want Julian to somehow accidently guess the real surprise, so he let a little ambiguity stand.

The night before Julian's release, Garak hardly slept. Neither did Julian, and they spent most of the night comming each other back and forth, a strange intimacy that, oddly, reminded Garak of their wedding night. By that point in their relationship there was no sexual leaf left unturned, but there was something dizzyingly erotic about the way Julian lay pliant in his arms, whispering his undying devotion into Garak's ear.

So they passed that last night apart comming promises they would keep for the next 10, 20, 30 years and beyond.

The next morning, Garak felt almost _shy_ as he approached Julian's room and was almost relieved to see that Julian had a visitor. Hospital friends and co-workers had been a regular presence of late, but Garak didn't recognize this morning's guest. Julian was already dressed to leave and was sitting across from his visitor, leaning forward with his arms on his knees.

"But the diagnostic tool said her blood pressure was high," his guest was saying—or whining to be accurate. Closer now, Garak recognized the garb of a medical student. Ah, taking advantage of the last day of the captive doctor cum patient to obtain some career advice, he guessed. Garak paused just outside the doorway, watching Julian with a pleased look on his face.

"Yes, you've mentioned that a couple of time," Julian answered evenly. "But what did you observe?"

"But if the tool says her blood pressure is high, shouldn't I treat her for her condition? How much valuable time will be lost if I ignore my instruments and keep looking for some other problem with one has already been identified."

"Ah, but you said yourself, you were perplexed by the tool's finding in that your patient did not present as having high blood pressure. In fact, you characterized the symptoms as those of low blood pressure."

"But I am just a med student," the young man said. "Certainly a diagnostic tool is more reliable than…"

Julian gently interrupted, "Where did the diagnostic tool come from?"

"What?" the student asked, sounding confused. "It was part of the equipment in the ER stall."

The corners of Julian's mouth quirked slightly upward. "I mean, originally," he clarified. "It came from somewhere didn't it? Some company had to build it and program it, right?"

"Well, yes of course."

"So, who's responsible for the read out?"

"I'm not sure I understand what you're asking."

"Let's think about it. You’ve either got a programmer coding the medical display or a doctor providing the programming. Is either one of those cases superior to your observations? And as you think on that, I want you to picture Dr. Fashok trying to order a cup of tea in the hospital replimat."

The boy looked scandalized that Julian should speak of the hospital's venerable medical director in such a manner.

"Now, reason tells you the device is a joint effort between medical and software personnel; we trust its efficacy because we see it working appropriately and accurately every day, but there will be instances where there are no diagnostics or the diagnostics you have are not reliable. You have to carry knowledge—and confidence in that knowledge—with you so that the diagnostics become a means of corroborating your diagnoses, not determining them."

The young man was quiet then, looking thoughtful. "When do you know it's time to be confident that you know what you know and not that you just think you know what you know?"

Julian laughed. "If I ever get there, I'll be sure to let you know." He shrugged and shook his head, knowing that wasn't the answer his young friend sought. "An important part of your training is coming to terms with what it can mean when you fail; and even so, you will only think you understand. There is nothing really that will prepare yourself for losing a life under your care. You just have to decide if you can accept, learn, grow, and move forward more learned than you were before."

Julian's eyes flickered over to Garak standing by the door and his guest realized someone else was there to see Julian. He hastily stood up, bowing his thanks and saying, "Would you… could I avail you of another discussion, Dr. Bashir?"

"I should like that very much," Julian said. "And I shall be glad to hold our discussion in the cafeteria as simply a medical colleague rather than a patient."

The young man beamed at the very idea that Julian might consider him a medical colleague. He bowed low, thanking Julian again, then turned and started when he saw Garak. His eyes widened impossibly.

Julian started to make an introduction. "Charon, have you met my husband…"

"Yes! I mean no, but I know! I mean I don't know him but I know him! Minister Garak! Yes!" he bowed and backed away and turned and turned back and bowed again and then rather shuffled off out the door.

"Hmm," said Garak, peeking out the door to watch as the poor young man continued his nervous shuffle-walk down the hall. "Should I be concerned?"

Julian chuckled, "What?"

Garak shrugged, as though an explanation was hardly needed. "Young, moderately handsome doctor…" Julian's eyebrow quirked at 'moderately.' "Seeking guidance from a dashing, mysterious individual living in exile with almost none of his own kind anywhere to be found…"

"Mysterious?" Julian sounded dubious.

"Exotic, then," Garak corrected.

"I'm afraid I don't see the parallels," Julian said. "Charon is a student, not a _highly_ qualified Starfleet medical officer— _Chief_ Medical Officer, mind you. And I am hardly an exile. Where I am is very much by choice. Besides, as I recall, the gentlemen you're remembering were very much unencumbered."

"Are you suggesting, my good doctor, that you are… encumbered?"

"I am," Julian said with a deferential nod.

"Hmm," Garak sniffed. "I know a time or two I might have proffered a slight bit of disdain for the more… overwrought romanticism in your Earth literature, but I confess to a bit of pique at such an underwhelming description of our union. Are you at least happily encumbered?"

"Moderately," Julian said with a smirk.

"Faint praise indeed," Garak said, turning his head to the side with a tragic air. "And here I walked _hours_ out of my way this morning to bring a little cheer to your day." He dangled evidence of his effort in front of him.

Julian gave a gasp of surprise. "That's a bag from Haruun's!" he said, recognizing the logo for the bakery a block over from the hospital.

"Is it?" Garak said, sounding bored. "I suppose it is."

"What's in the bag?" Julian asked with great curiosity.

"Items I stood in an interminable line to purchase," Garak said.

"Can I see?"

"Can you?" Garak asked imperiously. "I thought you saw our marriage clearly, but now I'm starting to wonder."

"Did you buy the cinnamon tarts?" Julian asked hopefully.

"They were on sale," Garak said.

"The cinnamon tarts are my favorite," Julian said demurely.

"Have you mentioned that before?" Garak asked, appearing inordinately interested in the view from Julian's window.

"You know, I try to be so careful not to embarrass you," Julian said. "But just the other day one of the nurses asked who had brought me the flowers on the desk, and I said, Oh those?  Why, my husband dropped those off on his way to work, just another example of the kind of selfless giving he is constantly..."

"Ugh, stop, this is unbearable!" Garak said, tossing the bag of pastry at Julian. "All these years, Darling, and not even an ounce of subtlety. You'd think at least a little of my talent would have rubbed off on you." 

Julian spoke around a mouthful of crumbs. "Maybe you're not as subtle as you think," he said, snatching the bag of goodies out of Garak's reach with shocking speed before Garak could take back his gift for such impudence.

"Oh we are on the mend, aren't we?" Garak said, admiringly.

They took private transit home—Julian had been game for trying public and at least had the grace to blush at Garak's silent look of incredulity. Garak had an idea that the next few weeks would be full of Julian overshooting exactly what he was capable of doing as he recovered. He said as much as they settled into the transport, but Julian just sniffed and said, "I have a feeling it will be much fuller of your undershooting."

Such impudence could not go unremarked, so in punishment, Garak engaged in yet another tawdry display and gaudily held Julian's hand the entire ride home.

He was watching Julian's face as they turned onto their street, knowing Julian would crane his neck to catch a glimpse of their house as soon as he possibly could. It was delicious, watching the first spark of confusion as Julian realized something looked different, and then his face morphing as what he was seeing became more obvious, even if the _why_ was not.

The transport stopped in front of the house, and even the driver of the car was staring in puzzled admiration.

The front yard was awash in greenery, with dotted reds and whites and pinks, standing in stark contrast to the tans and browns of the other yards. There were shrubs and plants and flowers in pots and every one of them could have been found on the planet of Julian's birth.

Although Garak didn't really need to, he held his hand out to Julian and drew him out of the transport. Eyes wide, Julian slowly moved up their front walkway. 

Unblinking, Garak watched him as he moved through the greenery, now and then lightly touching a leaf or a petal. 

"Elim?" Julian made another full turn and Garak had never been so charmed by such a picture of utter bewilderment. "Tell me what this is." 

"Julian, the last weeks of your illness," Garak began, then had to pause as his voice suddenly escaped him. He gruffly cleared his throat and said, "I know the only reason you took more of that poison into your body was for me; because you know there is a not a place for me in a world that doesn't have you in it." 

Julian said nothing, but his eyes, as ever, told Garak he wished it were not so. 

"I used to think the noblest thing I could do was to die for my cause, but," Garak slowly shook his head, his voice hushed with wonder. "How…courageous… how…irrefutable is it to live for someone?" 

"How does one express gratitude for a gesture of that magnitude?" Garak wondered. "The very idea of words sufficing is… appalling in its deficiency." 

Garak crouched down on his haunches and picked up a handful of dirt, still soft and pliable, and let it sift through his fingertips. "I have moved Cardassia for you, Julian," he said. "As you have lived for me, so will Cardassia live for you. She will give you beauty and shade and warmth and sustenance. My hand will tend her and nurture her, and I will coax from her a bounty no one ever imagined she could yield. All for you, so that you might know every day how dearly I cherish your generosity to me."

Julian's face was wet with tears. He coughed a laugh at himself as he drew Garak to stand up from where he knelt at Julian's feet. "Such a spectacle we're making for the neighbors," he whispered, ducking his head into the crook of Garak's neck in a show of tender submission Julian had to know would titillate those same nosy neighbors. And his husband.

"Come then, my love," Garak said, leading Julian inside their home.

They walked in the front door, and Julian laughed more hardily when it became clear that the garden outside held but a sample of Garak's offering.

"Someday," Garak said, watching raptly as Julian walked from plant to plant; touching petals, smelling flowers; his face a beautiful study of wonder and delight. "You are going to be furious at me for some imagined infraction of very minor importance…"

"Yes, that sounds like me," Julian said drily. 

Garak ignored him. "And you will look at the garden I have made for you, and all of that irrational, unfounded anger will just melt away."

"How proactive you are," Julian said admiringly. 

Later, Garak found Julian looking out of a kitchen window into the backyard. It was a less elaborate display than the front, but Garak had made sure every window Julian might chance to look out would find some bit of greenery; some bit of life. Gratitude made visible.

Garak came and stood behind Julian so he could share the same view. He drew his arms around his husband and remembered what Julian said once about the comfort that came with feeling their bodies touch as they breathed in and out. 

"There's a lemon tree," Julian whispered, his voice soft with wonder.

Garak knew Julian would feel the curve of his smile as he pressed his lips to the small patch of skin visible at the crook of Julian's neck and shoulder. "Oh no!" Garak said, sounding horrified. "How did _that_ get there?"

 

_The End (Epilogue notwithstanding)_


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Presenting Garak and Bashir as I wish they had been written. Any resemblance to the characters as they appeared on the show is probably totally coincidental.

**EPILOGUE (25 Years Later)**

"What do you mean I'm not old enough to be in love? I am five years older than Bapa was when you took up with him!"

"Took up with?!" Elim repeated, insulted at the word choice, then realized there was an even bigger affront to address. "Your bapa was not 17 when I _took up_ with him!"

"He was if we're to believe you were in your thirties."

Garak threw up his arms in dismay. "How are you to succeed in the world if you insist on this rigid interpretation of factual data in place of directional consistency?"

"I'm a biochemical engineer," Ahnak reminded her father. "I think I'll succeed quite well."

"Tone," Julian admonished gently from across the room. He had long since given up trying to officiate the nuances of argumentation and debate on his adopted home world. Disagreements were welcome in their home, disrespect was not.

Ahnak bowed her head to Garak, acknowledging her error and asking forgiveness in one smooth move,

"Asra is better than that know-it-all from Pegasus X." Zahara, their younger daughter, said. "Ugh, remember? With that weird hair and always with the sniffing!"

"Like you can talk?" Ahnak said to her sister. "You're dating a circus clown!"

"Stars above, he entertains children in hospitals and orphanages!" Zahara had obviously imparted this bit of information several times in the past. "In his spare time! When he's not at university studying to be a pilot! A pilot!"

Elric, home from his first semester at university, wandered in, having spent the afternoon with old school friends. He motioned toward the kitchen and asked Julian, "We're going out for dinner, right? What time are the reservations--should I go eat something?"

"About that…." Julian said, making a dubious face. "I may have neglected to mention that Lacon has opened a new restaurant in…"

"Noooo!" Elric moaned, and his sisters chimed in with their own wails of protest. "Why do you do this to us? We have been devoted children all of our lives! _Devoted_!"

"Stop," Julian said. "Lacon adores all three of you. He couldn't bear it if he knew you were in town and didn't come see him."

"Why can't we go see him on a full stomach?" Elric asked.

"Cooking is how he expresses his feelings," Julian said.

Elric lifted a sardonic brow, every inch Elim Garak's son. "Then I don't think _adores_ is an accurate interpretation of his feelings for us," he said. "What if we just go for dessert?" he suggested. "Not even Lacon can mess up fudge cakes, right?"

"Oh he can," Julian said. "They're awful. He adds rokassa juice, and it's just terrible. 

With Elric now at university, it was rare to have all three children home at once, but a weeklong break in the university schedule had coincided with a brief hospital stay for Julian.

Periodically, some vestige of Kryholtz-Kiner reared its head in their lives—nothing as severe as a full-fledged recurrence, more like the suggestion of a recurrence. Caught early and handily treated, it was unusual for Julian to be out of commission more than a few days, and it rarely disrupted their typically chaotic schedules.

However, this last incident was the first time Julian had fallen ill since their middle daughter, Zahara, had begun her studies in pre-med, and Garak suspected she had used her very remedial medical knowledge to marshal the troops to come home so they could see for themselves that Julian was on the mend. Zahara had made it her enthusiastic mission the last two days to catch Julian up on 30 years' worth of medical advancements since he'd been in school.

The night before, Garak had come to bed to find Julian half-heartedly paging through screen after screen on his PADD. "What are you doing?" Garak finally asked.

"Just wondering how long it would take me to comm every single being I came into contact with when I was in med school," Julian said with a self-deprecating grimace. "I fear I owe apologies for what may have been an… overenthusiastic sharing of my knowledge."

Now as the children scattered to get ready for dinner, Garak sighed tragically, clearly a man who had suffered greatly in his life. "So I guess we'll add _Asra_ to the guest list for our family getaway this winter." He said the young man's name with the same tone one might use when identifying the odious substance they'd just stepped in.

They had long been able to carry on two separate conversations—one in words, the others in pointed looks traded back and forth. Julian gave Garak a look that said, _You know they can hear you._

And Garak's look replied, _Of course I know. I raised them._

"He is better than the one who sniffed," Julian conceded aloud with a shrug.

"The circus clown is better than the one who sniffed," Garak said.

"He's not a circus clown, oh my stars!" Zahara called from the other room.

"Those who eavesdrop hear nothing good about themselves!" Julian answered back. 

"Don't tell her that!" Garak said, sounding scandalized. "Now listen, my love, this is just very early planning stage type discussion, but after dinner, I want us to just very casually peruse that house on the corner of …"

"Elim, we are not going to rattle around inside a home that comfortably sleeps 25 while we wait for our children to become brood mares."

"Well, Darling, anything can sound crass if you phrase if a certain way."

"I want them to know they have options," Julian said. "A gigantic family home awaiting them and their yet-to-be-named partners makes choosing another path far more difficult than it should be."

"There's no point worrying about that," Garak said. "Even if we lived in a mud hut, returning home would be a far more attractive prospect than anything else."

"They will be coupling with someone who has a family of their own, you do realize that, don't you?" Julian cautioned.

"Of course," Garak said. "But our family is better!"

Julian wasn't going to belabor the point, so he capitulated with a sigh and said, "Even so, we don't need a new house. Let's just wait a few years, and Ellie will be a licensed architect, and he can design a remodel for this house."

"Don't call me that!" Elric threw in from the next room.

"What, licensed?" Julian guessed. Elric's eye roll was very nearly audible from a room away, and Julian's glare said _Your children are the ones who eavesdrop._

"Face it, Da, you're never going to uproot him from his precious lemon tree," Ahnak said, giving up the pretense of not listening and joining them in the kitchen. "Pun intended."

"Besides," said Elric, following close behind. "How will you be able to gauge how pissed he is…"

"Language!" Julian said. "Honestly, I am under the weather for a scant few days and this family descends into lawless chaos!"

"How will you be able to gauge how _displeased_ ," This time Elric's eye roll was clearly visible for all to see, "he is at you without the garden barometer?"

Zahara, sat down next to Garak and hugged his arm, resting her chin on his shoulder. "You wouldn't really move somewhere without a garden for Bapa, would you?"

Garak kissed her temple, warmed as ever at her sweet and open heart. "I wouldn't dream of subjecting your bapa to a home without gardens," Garak said.

"But they won't be _these_ gardens," Julian said, shooting a quick, wistful smile Garak's way.

"Mrs. O'Brien has assured me a cutting from our lemon tree will flourish in a new location."

"Very early planning stage?" Julian echoed Garak's words from earlier with a lifted brow.

"Darling, one gets the most important questions answered first," Garak said smoothly.

Later that night, after a truly awful dinner at their friend Lacon's restaurant, Julian and Garak were preparing for bed, side-by-side at their bathroom sink. Garak was still trying to entice Julian to go look at the house he was interested in.

"I can't tomorrow," Julian said, and with a perfectly straight face, continued. "Zaza has promised to teach me about nutrition and its importance to one's personal health."

The corners of Garak's mouth twitched with barely controlled amusement. "All day?"

"My training includes a trip to the market so I can learn how to shop appropriately followed by a cooking demonstration so I may learn to prepare my meals as well..."

Garak laughed gently. "You are a very good bapa," he said softly, kissing Julian's cheek. Julian's return smile became a chuckle when Zahara barged through the bedroom door. Twenty years on and the children were apparently no closer to embracing the notion of knocking before entering their bedroom. She made a running jump for the middle of the bed, and suddenly in Garak's eyes she was six years old again.

Julian got the children ready for school most mornings and all three of them left their bedrooms looking positively pristine. The girls' hair was braided with Starfleet precision, spotless school uniforms were neatly pressed, and all three virtually glowed with the kind of germ-free cleanliness only a medical professional could engender. And yet, by the time Zahara landed on the last step at the bottom of the stairs, one braid had come lose, at least one shoe was untied and invariably there was jam, nut butter, chocolate or worse spotted on the front of her shirt. And this was before stepping foot in the kitchen for breakfast.

Garak fell in love a little bit every day at Julian's combination sigh/shrug of acceptance as their scrappy little Zaza burst out the front door to get on with her day.

"Da, I know it seems like I've been focusing on Bapa the last few days," Zahara said. "But don't worry, I'm thinking of you too! I'm taking a gerontology class this semester and there's all sorts of things we need to talk about before I head back!"

Alarming coughs suddenly emerged from the bathroom. "Sorry!" called Julian in a choked voice. "Water went down the wrong way!"

Zahara blithely continued. "You'll come to the market with me and Bapa, okay? The right foods in the right combination prepared the right way can make your later years healthier, more productive and more comfortable."

"Sweetheart, are you sure Bapa's up to a trip to the market? Did you hear that coughing?"

Zahara assured both her fathers that their journey to the market would not be too taxing, but did advise them to get a good night's sleep. Garak had a horrified feeling that if Julian had been in bed rather than leaning in the bathroom doorway Zahara would have actually tucked them in. With a kiss to Garak's cheek, she rolled off their bed and left the room, the door wide open behind her.

Julian told the computer to close the door, then made his own running jump for the bed, laughing along with Garak as he landed with a thud. "You're a good bapa too," he said, kissing Garak's cheek.

"Ah ah," Garak said teasingly with a nod toward the door. The children were still downstairs and their voices floated up into the room.

"Who's Stahn?" Elric was saying.

"El, what are you actually doing when conversations are floating all around you?" Ahnak asked. "Because I'm pretty sure it's not listening."

"Wait, is he that clown Za's dating?"

"He's not a circus clown, oh my stars, shut up!"

"A little bigger house and there would be no need to curb our more amorous pursuits just because the children are home," Garak said coaxingly.

Julian gave a scandalized gasp. "Are you using sex as a bargaining chip?"

"Darling, you're very easy," Garak said in a tone that suggested he was merely pointing out the obvious. Julian conceded the point with a shrug. "How quickly have you forgotten the furtive and downright unseemly lengths necessary to engage in a little intimacy…

"On the contrary," Julian said. "And besides, it turned us both into marvelously creative men."

Garak lifted his eyes skyward as he cast about for another carrot to dangle. "You know, except for Elric we missed a lot of baby moments because the girls we're older when they came to us. Imagine, being there on Day One when little Bashir comes home from the hospital…"

Julian burst out laughing. "Oh, so our first grandchild will be named after me, then?" he said.

Garak shrugged. "It's only fitting, Dr. Garak," he said magnanimously. "You did forfeit your name for the sake of good family order."

Perched on an elbow, Julian looked down at his husband and slowly shook his head. "You play a long game, Elim Garak," he said.

Garak lifted an eyebrow in invitation to continue.

"All this time, acting like a flotilla of Cardassian babies wasn't your goal all along. You were just aiming for second generation, not first."

Garak didn't exactly deny the accusation. "I knew our Cardassian babies would be exemplary," Garak said. "I just didn't realize _how_ exemplary. We owe our world as many as we can manage."

"It is a wonder you were not kicked off of every parental council upon which you participated," Julian said.

"Darling, one doesn't come so far in the world of Cardassian politics without knowing when to project an air of humility. 

Julian tilted his head and just looked at Garak for a few beats, starting to laugh again as Garak continued to school his face into as exaggerated a caricature of virtuosity as he could manage. "Fine," Julian said, suddenly boneless in surrender. "We'll go look at your palace!"

Garak knew better than to react too victoriously. "I think you'll find it a most suitable family home," he said, and it was clear where Elric's talent for eye rolling originated.

Julian gestured pointedly at his husband. "If one of the children gets an opportunity away from home, there will be no histrionics, no wailing and gnashing of teeth…"

"You're being very hard on yourself, Dear," Garak said. "You're allowed to feel what you're feeling…"

Julian kept listing, "No bribery, no trickery, no… chicanery…"

"Chicanery?" Garak repeated. "Why the day I stoop to chicanery is the day…"

Julian leaned down and kissed Garak's open mouth. "My lemon tree is non-negotiable," Julian said, their noses almost touching.

Garak smiled and brought Julian down for another kiss, and then another. "Darling, given my penchant for self-preservation, I think we both know that won't be a problem."

 

~ The End ~


End file.
